


31 times Scorponok and Frenzy weren't around to see their masters doing adult things

by Copito



Category: Transformers (Bay Movies), Transformers - All Media Types
Genre: Angry Sex, Begging, Claiming Bites, Come Inflation, Drabble Collection, Edgeplay, Foot Fetish, Frottage, Kinks until now, M/M, Medical Play, Possessive Behavior, Praise Kink, Size Difference, Sticky Sexual Interfacing
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-10-04
Updated: 2018-11-13
Packaged: 2019-07-24 19:58:55
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 8
Words: 9,022
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16182125
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Copito/pseuds/Copito
Summary: Collection of non related NSFW short and maybe not-so-short drabbles for Kinktober featuring what the title says.Each chapter title with their respective kink.





	1. Inflation

**Author's Note:**

> I 've no excuse for this pairing except that they are my favorite Cons from the whole movieverse (welp, they and Scorpy and Frenzy, hence the title lol), so I always kind of ship them.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> warnings: what the cap title says, bits of mating cycles and references to mpreg.  
> wordcount: 248

Barricade had lost count on how many hours they had been going like this.

Blackout was fragging insatiable.

But it was normal. Since the rut had started, the Mustang predicted that the whole process would not be an easy one. Still, he had wanted to "help" his fellow Decepticon. After all, the Pave Low had been the one who helped him in his last heat...

There he lay in the big nest of Blackout's quarters, tired and with optics almost offlined from exhaustion and bliss. His valve stretched full of the copter's thick spike, as the -for now- calm thrusts continue hitting his over-sensitive walls.

He could do nothing, just lay there and keep taking load after load of the rich transfluid.

The Mustang felt so _full_. At first, he thought it was just his imagination, but as each come from Blackout keep filling him, it was unmistakable. His abdominal plates were distended, they were stretching, trying to give more space to the upcoming load. His midsection felt heavy, too full, almost at the point of being a bit painful.

The lazy movements in his valve grew deeper. No doubt Blackout was reaching another overload, and Barricade mewled weakly at the feeling of more hot transfluid being injected inside his valve. And no matter how much of the fluid tried to escape in every withdrawal of Blackout's spike, it wasn't sufficient to relieve the fullness on his belly.

He vaguely wondered if he was ready to have sparklings.


	2. Begging

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> warnings: a drunken tempting barricade counts? .3.  
> wordcount: 713

In the precise moment he was getting comfy on his nest, the sound of opening and closing doors awakened Blackout of his mild relaxed state, and if that hadn't been sufficient, then the small heated weight on top of his chest would definitely do it.

 _How the frag did Barricade has access to his quarters anyway?_ The copter strongly suspected Frenzy...

The Mustang was practically glued to him, with his playful little glossa and dentas tasting and biting whatever he could reach of the thick cables on Blackout's neck. His whole small body writhed with impulsive need, obviously searching for the closest possible contact against the bigger frame.

To say he looked kind of desperate for some wild hard interfacing would be an understatement.

Still, Blackout couldn't stop the impulse to tease him a bit. "Is there something you _want_ Barricade?" He asked in a deep lazy voice, pushing himself in a half sitting position. "Because you know, I should really be recharging by now..."

Barricade laid on his lap now, optics bright looking up at him and with clawed servos placed on his chest. "It's not pretty obvious what I want?" He smiled deviously and straighten up closer to meet his intake against the not-so-resistant one of the bigger Decepticon, his vents coming harsh and hot between kisses, "Come on, frag me..."

At the meet of their glossas, Blackout tasted the well know flavor of high-grade energon. That definitely explained barricade's behavior because, commonly, it was really unusual in him to come to the copter asking to be fragged. Really. The Mustang's ridiculous big ego didn’t let him do it unless Blackout had him weeping with needy desire after some very well done foreplay.

While he was distracted in his thoughts, Barricade managed -with a surprising amount of force- to put himself on top of Blackout, sending him on his back against the mushy nest. The Mustang then rested his legs in each side on the pelvic array of the Pave Low and began to brush with slow but steady movements their interface panels. "Come on, open up, I want to feel that big spike you got there..."

With that rough voice spelling that kind of words Blackout found himself really impulse to thrown away his self-control to the Pit and do what was needed to do. Normally he would do it; normally he was probably the most perverted between the two of them. But...

"I've got a really serious mission tomorrow,'' Blackout bite, his servos splayed at each side, resisting the urge of putting them in those tempting slim hips to deepen more the friction. ''Besides, you're overcharged. What if I do something you don't like and tomorrow I wake up with you wanting to kill me?"

As if Barricade was going to fall back against that. "I'm...not...overcharged...frag!" He arched his back, as a notorious tremble invaded his frame and his voice cracked with bits of static.

The Pave Low was seriously wondering if Barricade had overloaded just from the rubbing alone...and then his confirmation came when a slight sensation of wetness could be felt where their crotches met. _What was self-control again?_

"You fragging bastard, you want to be a tease even in a moment like this huh?" Barricade growled, still trembling, and with dentas set in a gripping smirk. Blackout thought _that should be my words_ and swallowed hard at the sight of the grounder leaning over him.

With a low tone, Barricade inquired slyly, "Do you want me to beg? Because I'll gladly do it..."

Not like Blackout needed more incitement but the final nail came anyway. And it was in the form of a raspy, soft and dragged plea...

_"Please. Frag. Me."_

Blackout's panel opened faster than he ever remembered doing it -in fact, he didn't even remember giving the Primus-damned order to do so- and with a defeated curse he muttered, half angry half full of need, "You manipulative little slag..."

The copter didn't hold a clue about what happened next. His processor just kept concentrated in those _please please please_ that continue coming from that small intake.

Lord Megatron could forgive him for his possible bad performance tomorrow. Or maybe not. Whatever. He had a much more urgent mission to attend at the very moment.


	3. Edgeplay

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Warnings: this one contains bits of bloodplay and breathplay...I think ._.
> 
> Word count: 973

If there was something Barricade had truly liked about this "relationship" that had been developed between him and Blackout was the fact that the rotary was damn fast in learning what things he wanted and what he did not.

It was something he had yearned for found in a 'partner' for a long time -and commonly ended with some idiot who didn't care one bit about him; or some equal idiot who treated him as a delicate femme- and even when he'd probably never say it to Blackout's face, he was internally very grateful.

Because sometimes he wasn't in the mood to ask or express in any way the weird or psychotic thoughts that very rarely plagued his processor. No, he just needed to send a good sign to the bigger Decepticon and wait for his response.

Just like now.

He had contacted the rotary, sending him the coordinates were he wanted to meet -someplace far from the base where they're stationed now- and waited for his arrival.

One look and Blackout had let escape a soft cunning laugh. "That bad, huh?" He had inquired, rapidly reading the corporal language in the grounder.

Barricade didn't lose time in snap back. He only ordered, "I want you to don't hold back this time."

And the rotary was in motion.

Barricade let himself be manhandled with brute force as Blackout throw him in the table of the place they're in -an old abandoned storage-. His wrists suffered the almost crushing grip Blackout set in them with just one big servo, as the other was already tearing the protective panel of his intimate parts.

The sudden charge of energy plus the pain were already fogging his mind, leaving rational orders and thoughts far behind in his list of priorities. Only _feel_ was left and put in front.

The slim frame of the grounder twisted at the forceful entering of the thick spike of the flier, abruptly expanding his calipers and -Barricade was sure- tearing apart delicate plating that would surely need repair later.

It hurt and burned like the Pit, but Barricade could care less.

Blackout set a steady pace, not fast but _deep_. He could perfectly feel how the walls in the tight channel contracted at every time his length entered, how the calipers tried to cycle larger to accommodate him. Barricade cried under him, and Blackout didn't lose sight in how a fluid that was clearly _not_ pre-transfluid smeared his spike in every withdrawal.

He didn't falter. Barricade had been clear in his demands.

The pure energon was acting as a second lubricant, easing a bit the painful pace, and Barricade tried to calm his weepings via biting his lip-plates. It was incredible though. How between all the brutal treatment he was receiving, there was a thrilling excitement in wanting this. There was nothing coherent in his processor, just a blurred line mixed with pain and pleasure.

His lip-plates bled, and Barricade felt his wrists being free at the same time Blackout bent over to clash their intakes, the glossa of the flier tasting his bruised mouth. Barricade eagerly responded, even using his now free servos, looping them around the near cables of the rotary's neck.

Said servos were small but very sharp, and Blackout pushed harder at the sensation of his cables bleeding, the little but very stabbing lines they're now leaving in the wide panels of his chest as they scratched their pace.

Both Decepticons feel completely lost in the violent harsh act, neither saying anything but at the same time managing to comprehend what the other wanted.

And in some moment, Barricade feel the grip of a big servo on his neck, and his valve tightened even more. Blackout was using just barely _something_ of his strength, but it was enough to cut the breath of his intake. Maybe just a bit more and his neck could be completely crushed.

Barricade whimpered weakly, as he felt his overload coming and paralyzing his whole frame. His vision turned dim, his servos lost their hold on the flier big arms, and the sensation of his valve being filled felt like a caress between all the brutish movements.

His processor was off-lined for a moment.

\-------

When his frame rebooted, Barricade found himself being held be Blackout, his helm rested in his arm, where the rest of his body was on his lap. The rotary didn't look worried, but his optics were intensely put on him. Barricade couldn't help but sense a sting of annoyance at the possibility of being...questioned.

"Better?" Came Blackout's calm inquiry.

And, well, that wasn't what Barricade had awaited, so he responded with a curt nod.

With his vacant servo, Blackout offered him a small cube of energon, "You know, I was going to take you directly to the med-bay, but then I wondered if you would _really_ want to go. I mean, knowing you.." he dragged the last words.

And while Barricade drank, a little warming feeling washed his chest. _Yeah, this big bastard is knowing me a bit too much._

"I suppose I should go. Just to be sure." Barricade murmured, leaving half cube to drink later.

They stayed in silence for maybe a klik, when Blackout spoke again.

"Now that I remember, I was going to tell you that you better prepare a good reason to defend my aft when we get to the base."

Barricade looked up. "What for?"

Blackout lifted him easily in his arms, preparing to leave, "Don't you see the all the marks I've? Bonecrusher is going to throw me in the nearest cell he can get..."

And now that Barricade noticed -Blackout's marks in both neck and chest, and his own condition- yeah, there was a high chance for some bad interpretations.

Between all his tiredness, the grounder suppressed a little laugh.


	4. Medical play+Frottage

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I didnt get any ideas with the prompts of day 4 so I choose other ones, though I dont know if I get the medicalplay right but eh d:
> 
> Warnings: nothing serious but at first this can appear noncon or dubcon but no. It's not lol  
> Word count: 1739

Besides becoming a scout, Barricade had always wanted to learn the basics contents of medicine. Kind of for prideful reasons but above all, he didn't want to be a burden on the battlefield. And learning to repair basic damage could bring more than various benefits.

For that reason, besides attending military training, Barricade commonly took extra lessons with veteran medics and engineers. The task of assist or be assigned to repair various types of battle damage was a common thing in his every-cycle.

Usually, he didn't have problems. After all, he is a quick learner, equipped with clawed servos useful to reach any wire or cable, and a meticulous mind that let him resolve any problem in minutes.

Today though, apparently was a not usually one.

Hook had left the operation room a good amount of minutes ago, leaving Barricade with the task of perform the rest of the superficial repair in the midsection and pelvic panels of the current patient; and notifying him that he will come back in an hour or so to see the results.

The labor was a ridiculously easy one- if Barricade would do the job using a 100 percent concentrated processor.

Today though, the problem was that his stated processor was being an uncooperative piece of slag that only let him keep 10 percent to act as a rational side to do the labor, while the remaining 90 was dedicating the whole time to bomb his frame with...indecent thoughts. Why? Because the patient he is attending today is a flier. A big, hulking, and attractive flier.

_Fragging great._

Nevertheless, Barricade had until now proceed fairly well. Though from minute to minute, it would be inevitable for him to tear away his optics from the meticulous job in his servos, to drag them around to admire that fine, impressive, and massive example of flying warframe.

If he remembered well, Hook had mentioned that his designation was Blackout.

Barricade takes an deep in-vent.

It wasn't his fault that he had a 'thing' for air-frames! Honestly, who of the grounders didn't have it? Fliers were always the popular, powerful, and most attractive soldiers in the ranks. That was a fact.

This mech though was taking a bit too much of air from his vents than the average flier could do. Even to frustrating levels.

Barricade ex-vents harsh this time and forces himself to look for a moment anywhere but at the mech in question. It was so hard! And especially now that he's reaching the final part of his task: the pelvic zone. Which meant that in seconds he will be possible touching -or at least seeing- _that_ part.

Seriously, his luck dazzled him...in the most horrendous of ways.

_Calm yourself. You're going to finish this, get your approbation notes and from here you're going directly to your quarters to spend some nice quality time with your servos. Yes, that sounds perfect._

Some mental ramblings latter and Barricade finally proceeds. This part consisted of removing part of the armor situated at the pelvis -and by consequence, the interface panel too- to reach to some near circuits that needed readjustment. Again, nothing complicated. He could do this easy and fast-

But after the precise moment of doing the removing, Barricade stills. Because...no. There's no way he could continue working with such a view like that so close to him. Not with absolute precision at least.

"This thing can't be real." He murmurs, dumbfounded, looking at the size of the _thing_ in question.

It has an impressive length, with a dark color that combines nicely with the armor of its owner, and a girth that looked quite thick. And all of this considering it still wasn't pressurized.

Frag. Barricade could already imagine it. He had seen enough videos of that type (the big-flier/small-grounder category was obviously a favorite of his), and they were rapidly coming back at his memory to give him even more indecent ideas.

As if his rational side had shut up for seconds, Barricade's already reaching a servo to touch the spike.

He starts with one clawed digit, tacting its surface, from the crown to the base. Barricade gulps tightly and looks to Blackout's helm. The flier's still unconscious and probably with still plenty of time from wake up.

He really wanted to...test something. 

Barricade uses his entire servo this time (and notices how he can't even wrap it entirely around), to straighten the member from its housing. And after few seconds, he's needing to use both of his servos to hold it entirely.

 _Frag. It's even heavy._ Not a surprise, considering the size of Blackout's own servos...

Barricade gulps again. His fans are cycling at low pace but already trying to decimate the overheating temperature that is circulating his frame. He shouldn't be doing this, Hook could come back in a moment and catch him and oh Primus, he hopes he at least remembered to lock the door-

By pure instinct, he begins to slide his servo down the length, caressing it slowly, and then up. And then a few more times, sometimes griping it more firmly, using both his servos at the same time if necessary. And then Barricade swears. Because at first, he thinks he is imagining it but no, the spike is indeed getting more and more rigid at each movement.

He looks at Blackout's face again. Still not awake.

But well, his little test has been...successful. It was true that, even offline, some functions on a frame could still be active. Functions like this.

Barricade doesn't know if he should laugh or not but after some more slides he is now appreciating at, what he thinks, is the sheer complete size of the spike. and Barricade has lost count of how many times he had gulped but he is doing it again.

It could practically compete with the girth and length of his own forearm. Barricade shivers uncontrollably, feeling a special pleasurable tickling in his valve.

He should stop, he should, but his processor keeps giving him the lewd possibles ideas, and with all sincerity, Barricade wants to accomplish them all.

He checks his chronometer. There was still 10 minutes at least until the hour ended. He still has time...

Who knew when he would have the opportunity to be so close to an airframe of this...caliber, and especially in a similar context like the present one. Maybe never again.

Without losing any second more, Barricade climbs up the table were Blackout is laying and proceeds to set himself above the abdomen of the big flier, his legs hanging at both sides. He inspects close the face-plates in front but found still no signs of a reaction.

Damn, he sure didn't want to learn medicine to do things like this.

Barricade looks behind and takes a deep breath. He opens his panel, feeling the cool air of the room caress his hot, wet valve lips. The shivering becomes almost unbearable, when Barricade moves his frame back a bit and then, he is making contact. And a little wanton whimper leaves his intake.

The hard thick spike feels hot, its head more pronounced now. And its energon cables were obviously working hard inside because the thing could now hold up itself alone without Barricade having to touch it. Which meant that Barricade only had to put his servos on the abdomen of the frame under him and begin to move.

His movements are slow, letting his lips be dragged up and down against the stiff surface, his own wetness acts as a lubricant to make the slides even more pleasant. Barricade tries to muffle his own intake because the sounds it's making are becoming a bit too high but he can't help it. It feels _so good._

His valve is practically throbbing, contracting its insides and aching to let that monstrosity inside. And Barricade bits his lips because he knows he doesn't have time to go that far but frag, his own fantasies are being enough to oblige him to make the contact deeper.

He can feel the head of the spike sometimes rubbing his opening, past his lips, tempting to go _inside_. And it's very tortuous but Barricade doesn't let it. Instead he looks at his front, and fortunately, Blackout continues sleeping.

Barricade senses the charge in his frame reaching high levels rapidly and starts to rub himself in an angle that makes the length slide at full contact against his ceiling node. At this point, it's impossible for him to contain some pretty loud moans because he is so close, so damn close and frag, he wants that big spike opening him, stretching him, filling him, it would surely feel so _incredible_ -

Reaching a servo to his intake, Barricade overloads with a barely covered cry, his legs trembling as his transfluid can be feel smearing under him.

Still trying to reestablish his venting, Barricade checks his chronometer again. He has 4 minutes to clean this mess and receive his disapproved note, but he could hardly care. He feels so spent and blissful and it's enough for him that he has not been caught-

When suddenly two big and strong servos grab his hips and Barricade shrieks. Because, holy Primus he didn't expect that and- he looks in front, where two intense red optics are looking back at him.

 _I'm so dead._ He repeats that in an infinitive loop, because he is and there is no way he can escape this now!

"Hey doctor," starts the deep voice of the flier. "it's not fair that you have your fun and left the patient like this." He empathizes the last words with a buck in his hips, making Barricade gasp against the still pressurized spike. "And you know, the panel is not going to close if you leave it like that."

"When did you onlined?!" Barricade stutters, in a rush.

Blackout lifts the ridge of one optic, "Why, since you opened the panel and set those little servos on me."

 _All this time!_ Barricade just thinks, because his intake is still unable to function coherently.

Then Blackout starts rubbing his hard member against the very still sensible valve, and Barricade is whimpering shamelessly again, when the flier murmurs close, "I hope you put a lock on that door."

Well, Hook could expel him from the whole med-bay if he wanted. Because Barricade isn't opening the door until he finishes the 'repair'.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I wanted to write something for everyday but well, life happens...  
> oh well, Im still finishing this no matter what~


	5. Feet

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> warnings: nothing c:  
> wordcount: 500

"Like this?"

Blackout's breath hitched at the contact, "Yeah, like that. Keep-keep doing that..."

Barricade didn't say anything more. Just kept his optics in the place where he was supposed to continue working. And honestly, Blackout is silently thankful for that.

He was still a bit disoriented about how the whole situation had turned so easy, how quickly Barricade accepted and proceeded to do his 'request'. He had just said _'use your pedes'_ and the Mustang threw a smirk at him and put his small feet on the thick hard member of the copter, starting with slow, delicate rubs.

They were perfect for it, Blackout noted. Small and flexible and with the adequate precise joints to do the movements he had so hoped. Like in this precise moment, where Barricade was using the very front tip of his pede to brush the head of his spike. It felt _really_ good, even though when in the deepest confinements of Blackout's processor there was still a little weird tickling for liking something that came from -as far as he knew- the dirty dustball that was planet Earth.

No one should know how a search for information on the internet had developed in a discovery of 'variety of ways in which humans copulated'. And even though some still repulsed him in great amounts, there were a few that had really caught his attention.

This one was probably one of which he wanted to try the most. And what a joy to discover that his small grounder mate had the perfect 'equipment' to do the task.

Blackout's throat rumbled a particular deep groan as Barricade used both his pedes around his length, forming an enveloping grip that automatically incited the flier to ground his hips against the welcoming stimulation.

Under him, resting on his elbows, the Mustang smiled wantonly, obviously enjoying the whole affair, and Blackout suddenly wondered if his mate already knew what he had been aiming for since the beginning because Holy Unicron's beards, Barricade did every perfect movement, stroking his spike up and down, just like the way he had seen in those slagging human videos and _frag._

He was so going to come. He was going to overload so hard in those small adorable pedes and paint them with his fluids so much and-

He suddenly waked up.

The Pave Low looked around. He was in his nest, and at his side was Barricade, recharging. They were not-

Damn. So that was why Barricade had so easily accepted. He was even beginning to dream about it now too...

Blackout huffed, trying to accommodate in a comfortable position. Though, something that felt really heated in his interface panel was giving him the idea that that matter was going to be a little difficult to gain.

He really needed to become a reality that fantasy. Maybe he was going to ask tomorrow, and if Barricade didn't use his pedes to instead kick him in the helm, he would call it an advance.


	6. Biting

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> warnings: some hints of possessive behavior.  
> wordcount: 1135

Barricade didn't know if the high temperature felt in the moment was because of the enormous figure on top of him, or because of his own frame, which kept responding to certain copter's insisting dentas, tasting and biting around different regions of it.

Both reasons were probably contributing to the same fact in equal quantity.

One three-fingered servo griped his wrists over his helm, while the other rested on some side, preventing that the imposing broad frame of the flier could crush his smaller form. Any way of escape from this position was unreachable at this point. _Not like Barricade wanted to escape anyway._

So far, since they had arrived at the Mustang's quarters, Blackout had simply dedicated his time to corner the grounder against a desk and stick his mouth-plates to any part of his armor within reach. There was an apparent insistence in the big mech in trying to leave any sort of mark on Barricade's frame. 

"What's with all this teasing?" Barricade ex-vented low, feeling that mouth in the curve of his neck, "If I could guess, I'd tell you are trying to inspect me with your intake alone..."

Blackout stopped to set his -kind of mad? Barricade wasn't sure- optics on him, "You guessed correctly then because that's exactly what I'm doing." and without losing a klik more, he continued with his now appointed 'inspection'.

A particular strong bite on his shoulder made Barricade hiss, his hips involuntary bucked against Blackout, and the copter hummed deep in a satisfied tone. It truly felt great, because the Mustang was a fan of some rough treatment during interfacing too...but sometimes- "You big brute...didn't I told you that I don't like- Ah! Bruises on my armor?" Barricade gasped, trying to use a mild-angry tone but honestly, failing miserably.

"You sure? Because your 'oh-so-untouchable' frame apparently doesn't agree." There was a definitive sort of mad/angry/accusatory vibe in the Pave Low's vocalizer, Barricade was completely sure now. And even though he kind of _knew_ the reason, his inquiry came out anyway.

"What's with that angry tone now? Did I do something to make you mad? Is this now your ways of 'punish' me?"

Blackout stopped again, raising from where he had been currently trying to bite -Barricade's grill on his chest plates- and the serious look on his face froze any more snarky remarks that could exit from the Mustang's intake.

"You seriously want to know?" the copter's question came low and raspy, and the griped wrists of the smaller mech were finally released, "I'm not mad at you, but against something I saw in the early cycle of today."

Oh, _that_. Well, Barricade had previously guessed correctly then. 

"Who the frag is that mech?" Blackout growled, his servos now grabbing Barricade's thighs, spreading them. "And why the Pit was he touching you?"

The helm of the Mustang was thrown back to the desk as a little huffed laugh escape his intake, "Oh Primus, don't tell me you're going to be jealous again. He's just a- ngh! new momentary partner for some mission I'll attend. Nothing- ah! more..." His last words came breathy as the copter's faceplates ex-vented close to his interface panel.

"Oh yeah? He seemed a bit too friendly to me..." And honestly, Barricade could understand that, because Blackout was obviously making a reference to that 'put his servo on your hip and throw sly smiles at you' level of friendliness that that mech had tried on him.

Blackout launched another bite, this time in the back armor of his thighs, and Barricade found himself spreading them even more. "And before you ask again," the Pave Low growled, "this 'inspection' I'm doing, is to assure myself that that corrosive piece-of-slag didn't leave any disgusting mark," he dragged his dentas from the seams on his crotch...to his interface panel, "...on what is mine."

Barricade whimpered, his vents doing what they could to cool his overheated circuits. And good Primus, his still sealed valve ached to be filled already! Normally the Mustang didn't accept being subjugated so easily, but this 'driven-by-jealousness' version of Blackout that had recently appeared always managed to invite him to submit faster, wanting nothing more than the overflowing feeling of the enormous copter taking him completely.

Because yes, this wasn't the first time this had happened.

While Blackout did his job on removing his panel -and leaving another dent there, but at this point the Mustang couldn't care less-, and doing the same with his own one, Barricade remembered briefly the various times he had already witnessed this issue, in which the flier became completely dominated by some territorial instinct.

Blackout always guided his anger against anymech who showed interest in approaching Barricade with 'those' intentions. And it usually ended with those poor slaggers directed straight to the med-bay, unrecognizable after the brutal beating the Pave Low launched on them. 

And Barricade wouldn't lie, he didn't need protection of any kind, but he took great pleasure in appreciating how he was the direct cause of all those attacks. 

Blackout blocked his little train of thoughts, sliding his turgid spike between the wet folds of his valve, intention clear in entering his frame in any klik. And when its head was put in position, the copter bend down to meet his dentas to the delicate cables of Barricade's neck. The Mustang didn't hesitate in giving him more space, arching his back and moaning at the same time the feeling of his valve being stretched slowly overcharged his whole sensorial system. 

Close, so very close Blackout's rough, deep voice murmured, "If I see that rotten fragger again, I'll wreck him completely until nothing but pieces of scrap are left." 

Oh, Barricade didn't have any doubt that that will surely happen. In fact, if he still has any kind of mercy, he should advertise that mech to fly to the other side of planet Earth, or directly fake his decommissioning.

As Blackout's spike reached the depths of his valve, Barricade sensed his overload approaching already. Yeah, the copter had not properly fragged him yet, but his whole attitude and words and _bites_ had been enough to drive him so close to the edge. 

The first thrust was charged with pure force, hitting all his sensitive nodes. And if that had not been sufficient, then the strong bite on his neck -worthy of piercing and leaving traces of energon- completely fogged Barricade in making his valve clench tightly around the spike filling it. 

The smirk on Blackout's lip-plates didn't leave any doubt about his pure satisfaction. And taking advantage of the slick transfluid on that now more loosened valve, the copter began to thrust with abandon, determined to make Barricade spell loud and clear who had the truly right to touch and see him like this.


	7. Praise kink

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> warnings: you can almost call this fluff...for decepticon standards maybe :P  
> wordcount: 1188

It was unfair to be caught like this. 

At that moment, Barricade's processor had been the least concentrated. Too turbulent. Still irritated and replaying those awful words directed at his being. 

Primus-damned fliers and their ridiculous, repugnant big egos. 

Barricade understand. He wasn't stupid, just sometimes reckless. It had been his fault that the recent mission had failed. It wasn't necessary that they keep throwing faults at him, he fragging _understand._

How distracted he had been at that moment that he was unable to notice the enormous frame following him from the refectory to the hall. And even more distracted he was to not prevent the two strong arms that suddenly held him, one big servo blocked his vision and the next thing he sensed was that he was being dragged to someplace.

When his vision was available again, he recognized the private quarters where he had been other times, more specific this nest, and it wasn't necessary to turn around to see Blackout's smirking faceplates to greet him, the Mustang could practically feel them behind him.

"You know, it's unfair to attack and abduct someone when they're the least concentrated," Barricade bit, sounding like the least amused mech in the universe. 

"Why do you think I decided to catch you then?" Blackout responded, and in contrast to Barricade, his voice was decorated with a notable entertained tone. "You're the most _adorable_ thing when you're distracted."

 _That_ made Barricade turn around. "Adora- What did you just said?! I did forbid you to call me that you big-!" His outrage was short-lived though when Blackout took advantage to silence him with his own mouth-plates. 

Oh, how delightful it was to catch the normally grumpy Mustang like this. The Sikorsky wouldn't normally use words like 'adorable' to describe someone, but Barricade could rapidly become the exception without even trying.

The resistance on Barricade's servos was short-lived too. Passing from protest and trying to push the bigger frame away, to pull closer and grab what they could from those broad shoulders. He maybe _needed_ this, the Mustang reasoned, as the clash of their mouth-plates deepened in urgent necessity. It was much much better than be frustrated because of the failure he sometimes considered his online existence.

And when their intakes were separated, "You better have some good ideas to start this," Barricade huffed, trying to sound mildly annoyed. It only made Blackout smirk even more.

"Of course I've some," the copter said, manhandling the smaller mech in a better position, with legs spread and easy access to his most private parts. "Would be unproductive to leave all heated and charged such a cute specimen like you and don't do something about it..."

For a few kliks, Barricade wanted to protest again, take advantage of the position and give his smug fragger of a mate a good kick in the helm, but damn if it was impossible when that same smug fragger was trailing his mouth-plates in an all slow and teasing way through his abdominal armor. 

"Relax Barricade, you re so tense..." Blackout whispered, leaving light kisses on those shuddering plates. With one digit, he tapped the still sealed interface compartment, "Come on open, I'll take care of you for now."

The sound of accelerating cooling fans resonated, and Barricade growled low, doing what the flier asked. ''Could you just- quit saying that kind of words at least? You know I-"

"Don't like it? Don't lie..." The copter's intake expelled hot air against the exposed valve, which's rim tightened slightly in anticipation. Blackout's glossa traced it entirely, pressing especially to the ceiling node, circling it. The slender back of the Saleen arched, obviously searching more, and Blackout couldn't help but tease him for it, "As much as I like you distracted, this is clearly a much better sight," he tap another broad lick, watching as the rim of the valve was left well lubricated, "You look so positively enticing like this..."

Barricade grasped the mushy sheets of the nest, way too lost in the sensation that glossa produced, feeling it as how slowly it kept going more inside of his now slick channel. His optics offlined, Barricade let small heated ex-vents escape, circling thoughtless his hips against the Sikorsky's helm, his legs quivering and spreading wider. 

So good it felt already that when Blackout started to use one of his thick digits, sinking it in the mess that was his valve, Barricade moaned loudly, throwing back his helm and onlining his optics brighter than before.

"Yeah, like that Barricade," Blackout hummed, moving his digit against the throbbing walls, feeling them clenching on it. "You want to ride my digits, don't you?" He inquired slyly, adding another one. And as his fingers were much broader than normal ones, two were more than enough to stretch the lining of that small, delicious opening. 

The helicopter started to bump his digits, watching as Barricade bucked his hips the best he could, meeting his merciless pace. His intake opened, leaving wanton loud sounds of pleasure escape. The Mustang looked so blissfully lost, so different from the one the copter had seen groons ago, conflicted and frustrated. 

Nothing of that was in sight now, just an opened, beautiful Saleen, enjoying entirely his ministrations. Blackout fell the need of spell it clearly to his audials.

"So fragging good. I'm not even inside of you but you feel so incredibly good Barricade..." And he couldn't be fooled, the copter felt how that heated channel tightened even more at his words. "Wish I'd some way to show you. How insanely beautiful you look."

It was so blinding, he couldn't possibly think about anything else. Barricade didn't remember if he was supposed to do something else at this very moment. Fragging Blackout, he should have known already how it was so difficult to hide something from him. The copter enjoyed praising him, as much as he low-keyed liked hearing it. No matter how much Barricade refused the whole affair. He wondered why he even bothered trying to stop him.

Blackout suddenly retired his digits, and before Barricade could protest, the copter lifted the Mustang's legs, bending his frame and took advantage of the exposing position to attack both his ceiling node with one digit and his sensible valve with the other two. 

The mash against his delicate nodes was more maddening, more pressing. Barricade wailed with a static, broken voice, shuddering violently as Blackout continued thrusting in him, telling him close to his audios how good he looked, how he wanted to kept him like _this._

The movements were unstoppable until his overload came, coating the intruder digits with his hot transfluid, the valve's calipers gripped tightly around them. Barricade was left feeling so spend, his vents tried to recover his breath, his servos trembled for grabbing so strongly to the nest. And above him, Blackout observed shamelessly, while licking his smeared digits.

"Told you I had some good ideas, didn't I?" the copter smirked once again, and if it wasn't because how loosened and tired his frame felt, Barricade would have grabbed his face and kiss him right there.


	8. Angry sex

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> warnings: rough sex (obviously) and both blacky and cade being jealous afts about everything.  
> wordcount: 2505 (wow they're getting longer ._.)
> 
> Quartex= 1 earth month.

Since the first time they had interfaced, the first rule had been clear: 'no strings to get attached'. No matter how incredible blissfully good each and every one of those encounters had been, Barricade and Blackout were clear that the relationship they had should not pass from the simple term of being 'berth mates'.

Or at least, that was the original premise.

Barricade was probably the one who started to shown the first signals. There was a questionnaire for every time he had seen Blackout exchanging words way too close with some other aerial-frame, or for the appearance of whatever mark on the rotary's frame that he was sure he didn't cause, or neither could be caused in battle.

To Blackout, it was kind of funny and/or adorable at first, thinking that Barricade was simply exaggerating, or maybe to some extent...becoming a little jealous.

Then he made the mistake of insinuating that the Mustang was getting too attached to him.

It wasn't necessary to enter in too many details to describe how the grounder send him to the deepest pit of the universe, expelling colorful insults the whole time (some that would make even Bonecrusher silent for sure).

Since that moment, they didn't exchange any words if it wasn't for military work stuff. Much less enter in any field of physical contact.

And at first, it had been for the best. Blackout at least thought so. No matter how much they stayed apart currently, in the end, it would be a question of time before they began to search each other again.

But then the entire pit broke loose when, in the middle of a typical time spent in the base's cantina, Blackout saw Barricade getting way too touchy with some unknown mech in one of the corners.

That- couldn't be true...right? Barricade didn't let anyone touch him gratuitously unless they did have one very good reason to do so, or when he left them for his own sake.

Blackout noted how very quickly the touchiness between Barricade and that mech (some grounder slightly bigger than the Interceptor) was escalating in alarming levels. That servo on familiar slender hips was slowly sliding through them to reach to the small aft plates on Barricade's back, groping without shame and pulling closer both frames.

And the worst of all? Barricade didn't protest anything! He seemed completely fine with the current affair, even smiling slyly the whole time, and putting his clawed servos on the mech's neck to pull him off the corner.

A tight sensation burned the center of his chest, as Blackout saw how the two grounders made their way to the cantina's exit, intentions very clear on their frame's language about what they were planning to do after going out the place.

He couldn't believe it. That fast was Barricade going to do the one thing that he critiqued so much? That desperate was he to prove that he wasn't attached to the copter in any level?

Not even taking a moment to consider the situation more, Blackout left his spot, expression and steps apparently calm but with his processor concentrated in only one objective. He was going to found Barricade, have some words face-to-face and put some concepts straight.

His cube of high-grade energon was left untouched.

\------

A table in the corner of a large storage room was not probably the most comfortable place to frag around but still, Barricade doubted he could care. He, after all, had been the one desperate enough to invite this mech to frag him in the closest private place they could find in the way.

The mech in question (Barricade honestly didn't even remember his designation) wasn't bad. In fact, if the Interceptor had to make a ranking between the various mechs that had interfaced with him during the last cycles, this one was probably in the top three easily.

Which spoke aloud about his luck in his search for a new 'berth mate'.

Lip-plates in his valve, rubbing and parting his sensitive folds made Barricade's voice arise. He was making sure to show how much he wanted to go fast to the 'main event' but apparently, this mech was one of those who took their time. _Maybe too much time._

"Come on, do it," he muttered, rolling his hips in his search for more contact, "Or I'm going to end up spiking you instead."

That made the mech stand up, his servos immediately went to his panel, "Eager one, aren't you Barricade? Who would have thought that you were such a desperate valve mech?"

Barricade growled at those words, though there wasn’t really a point in getting mad at them when, exactly that, was what had happened in the last quartex. 

The sudden entrance of the spike cut his internal ramblings. Barricade felt his walls gripping strongly at the intruding sensation, while his hips began to mindlessly move in search of the so necessary release. His current partner ex-vented an apparently surprised breath, before putting his servos on the Mustang's eager hips to set his own pace.

Barricade wanted those thrusts to be harsher, deeper. They were good but he felt as if something still lacked in them. It was the same feeling he had as in the other encounters. The same since he wasn't with Black-

_Shut up stupid processor. Stop doing that._

Oh, it was so damn difficult to do that though. Only his pride didn't let him admit it openly, but deep down in his frame, Barricade missed _so much_ that incredible overwhelming feeling during interfacing that apparently only the Sikorsky was capable of doing so with him. Barricade swore. He was even starting to hate that damn copter for it.

His charge of was up there but still not sufficient to make him overload, so Barricade slid a servo to his valve, searching his external node. If extra stimulation was needed then he would gladly provide it. Nudging his node, the Mustang clamped his calipers more strongly around the spike.

Just a bit more, maybe if he added a digit in there too...

"Gah! What-the! Le-let me go!"

 _What? What was wrong with this idiot?_ It wasn't as if Barricade had tightened that much or something...

Turning his helm back to question why the slag the mech had stopped moving, Barricade froze when he saw behind then a very tall darkened figure...which he recognized in a nanoklik.

Blackout was holding the mech's helm, who was now desperately struggling to get himself free, his servos battled against the much bigger and stronger one that promised to crush his helm in any moment if he didn't-

Blackout pressed with more force his three digits, and various 'crack' sounds were heard along howls of pure pain that almost made Barricade flinch. But the Saleen kept _transfixed_ , his optics meeting with Blackout ones.

Just barely, Barricade heard the copter murmuring, not at him, but at his unfortunate current partner: "Get lost."

With the sense of still restrained anger tingling his systems, Blackout threw the screaming mech through the doors, sending him crashing against the wall of the (fortunately) empty hall, and closing the door with a thunderous tug. Some barely struggles and whims could be heard outside before everything went quiet.

There was a very palpable silence for at least a klik. Barricade kept motionless, looking to the notable tensed broad back of the Sikorsky, where his rotors had spread as if to appear even more intimidating and enormous than normally. The Mustang didn't know what to say, or how to react before Blackout turned around to put his cold optics on him.

"And here I thought you were a difficult, unreachable little slag to conquest," he began, his voice impossible rough and low.

Barricade twitched at the implication of those words. "And what the frag do you care about what I do anyway? Are you going to stalk me or something now?"

The brief laugh that escaped Blackout's intake was _charged_ with pure sarcastic tone. "Stalk you did you said? That's kind of ironic. I remember _you_ were the one who couldn't keep his optics away from what I did, or where I go, or even better...with who I was."

Barricade gritted his dentas, feeling a surge of anger dominating his circuits. How an almost pleasurable frag with someone had turned into this situation was far his comprehension, but the Mustang suddenly didn't want to be there anymore. He stepped from the corner, and proceed to walk away with all the intentions of leaving. He would have done it if it wasn’t for the big servo that shoved him against the table again.

"And where do you think you're going? We have not finished here yet."

Blackout approached steady, impossibly tall, but that didn't daunt Barricade one bit. "Well, it seems you get memo late then because we were finished since a quartex or more. Now step aside!"

"Oh please. That time you just started to thrown insults left and right after some tiny tease from me. But from neither of our intakes the word 'finished' was said. Or I'm wrong?"

That smirk in front of him impulsed Barricade to launch a kick, directed straight against those smug faceplates. Blackout was faster though, grabbing Barricade's ankle and utilizing it to tug the Mustang across the table, leaving him completely exposed in a cornered position beneath his broad frame.

The necessity to continue fighting in Barricade's frame and processor quickly die down from the nanoklik where Blackout met his lip-plates against his. On pure impulse, he answered with the same intensity that the Sikorsky reeked. It was absurd, but the anger in his frame was transforming into desperate arousal; Barricade glued his frame at the imposing one that enveloped him, his servos already craving lines on the armor of Blackout's chest, feeling the potent spark throbbing inside. And while their glossas continue battling, the harsh rubbing that began down on his still exposed valve send the Mustang's charge up in seconds, faster than in any other encounter.

Blackout growl sounded immensely satisfied inside his chest; the bucking of that small array against his sealed panel spoke clearly about how much the Mustang's frame had missed this, _just the same as him._

Their cooling fans resonated at a high rate, and the necessity for extra air finally forced their intakes apart. Blackout looked at Barricade's flushed faceplates, noting the field of yearning that matched them. "You want us to be finished? We can do that..." Barricade almost shook his helm, "But first, what if we do a little test. How about if you exam if others can do what _I can_?"

The sudden flip of his frame almost fogged Barricade's vision. He was left on his servos and knees, facing the wall as the sound of a snapping panel behind him made his valve tremble with anticipation. His processor seemed numb, impossible to perform any cognitive thought. And while he was eager to fragged already, Barricade was definitely not ready to feel how Blackout rammed his thick length in one single thrust, filling his valve to the brim entirely and forcing a surprised and dragged blissful moan exit from his throat

Blackout hummed appreciably; Barricade's valve was stretched enough as he had thought, "At least that insignificant slagger was useful for something."

The strong grip the copter's servos put on his hips would have hurt in other time, but to Barricade that could hardly be felt at the moment, not when that exquisite slid against his valve's walls was setting every node in electricity. He spread his legs more, venting harsh as another deep, all-encompassing thrust filled his throbbing channel.

Blackout didn't lose any nanoklik more, setting a strong, hard pace so that his spike could strike entirely to the deepest insides of Barricade's frame. The remembered thought that _others_ had seen the Interceptor in these same positions impulsed something primitive in his processor, something that told him to 'claim' that infuriating grounder beneath him.

It was so incredibly different, even at scary levels, how the charge on Barricade's systems felt so blissfully good now, something that with others mechs had been impossible to reach. Blackout movements set every circuit in his being with pure white pleasure, while his valve felt immensely overflowed _in the right way_ , making its calipers want to grip so strongly to that spike as if to sink it more inside. Barricade knew he wouldn't be able to last much, not with the way Blackout was shooking him across that poor table, to which boards the Mustang's taloned servos grabbed for dear life.

With desperate loud moans, Barricade overloaded hard, tightening his calipers with a maddening force, so hard that made Blackout falter suddenly. The vice grip on his length was so deliciously strong that almost forced an overload from him too, but the copter composed himself rapidly, enjoying how that convulsing channel wetted even more around him instead.

He bent down, close to Barricade's audials, "That fast huh? I wonder, did that happened because that slagger had you this close, or is it because it's _my_ spike the one you’re taking now?"

Oh, Barricade perfectly knew the answer to that question, but his intake was incapable of express anything understandable. Frag, his whole frame even seemed non-functional, blissfully spend as it felt now.

His helm was suddenly shoved to the table, impossible to free because of the huge servo holding it, and Blackout didn't leave Barricade to react in any way before starting his punishing pace again.

With the current position, his aft was more exposed, practically in the air, and Barricade could perfectly felt how the shoves of Blackout's length battered straight against the little opening of his gestation chamber as if demanding it to be opened. He whimpered incompressible mewls, all his frame entirely sensible after his overload, but still wanting mindlessly those strong thrusts to not stop, to keep entering his slick valve until the very essence of the copter transfluid filled him, even his chambers-

Blackout growled, completely overtaken by his more primitive codes until a very heated charge reached the under-side of his frame. He pushed his spike _deep_ , entirely inside of Barricade's trembling form and washed his walls with his hot transfluid. In that last thrust, the copter sensed how something in the Mustang's most deepened confines had opened, and briefly, he wondered if he had been able to reach _that place._

Honestly, he wouldn’t mind. If it had opened, it was because Barricade wanted. No gestational chamber could be open if its mech didn’t give the order to do so...

As their vents battled to cold their overheated spend frames, Blackout still have the audacity to ask one more teasing question, "And? You still want _this_ to finish?"

Barricade lazily turned. His legs could barely move, but his intake was a bit more functional at least. "You know the answer, you big fragger. Now, how about you began to repay the entire quartex were we left..."


End file.
